New York City

the name of this story is "8 million tragedies daily"
but i don't think that's quiet accurate,
as everyone has several tragedies a day
and there are far more than 8 million people.

the daily routine is of nightmare proportions:
the jolting radio haranguing you awake with the weather and the latest news
racing to work
guzzling your coffee (cheap, instant, watery)
gulping your breakfast (baked, fatty, sugar)
realizing you forgot your cellphone one block away
finding it when you've walked a half block back
swearing at everyone that's in your way
you're the center of the universe,
you're the reason the sun moves and the stars shine
and if they can't accept that, well, fuck them.
"fuck you" is the local greeting.
"Hey taxi, fuck you! you didn't let me go first"
"hey newspaper boy, fuck you! your paper sucks..."
"hey granny with a walker, fuck you! you're in my way.."

the day is slavery
making the world go around,
fill with smog, heat up and melt
everyone is angry and spinning like a top
maybe that could be my new title,
"8 Million Red-hot Tops Spinning Constantly with Rage"
The tasmanian devil was a new yorker
8 million tasmanian devils spinning contantly
rage
rage

after the day, the soulless zombies trudge home
turn on the news ("Blood! Guts! Outrage!")
the baseball game (rage disguised as sport "C'mon, fuckers!")
or feature blockbusters filmed near your home
with cooler explosions and friendlier cops than the ones you've ever encountered.
You eat frozen dinners, chinese take-out, or greek.
you drink Bud but not miller and when you splurge, you get a heineken.
you ass grows as you gorge and zone, surfing through 200 channels,
pausing briefly at the shark attacks, exploding cars, and bare tits on HBO.
It's like this every single day of your life and then you die.

Maybe it's just the weather- 95 degress, 95% humidity. I hope tomorrow is better.